The Case of the Trespassing Tabby
by Savethellamas
Summary: Holmes and Watson receive a rather unexpected visitor at Baker Street. But just who is this new acquaintance, and why does Holmes despise him so much? Now Complete.
1. Chapter 1

The Case of the Trespassing Tabby

"Watson, if you do not refrain from that incessant scribbling, I will be tempted to throw something at you."

It was the fourteenth remark of the kind Holmes had made that afternoon, and my patience was reaching its end. I understood that he was working on a case of supreme importance, but I failed to see how my writing could be that much trouble. His client had been here just this morning and had not seemed annoyed by it. At the very least, she had not felt the need to continually moan that my pen was making enough noise to cause headaches, insanity, and other such discomforts, like a certain famous detective.

"Holmes," I replied rather testily, "This story needs to be finished by this evening. I can not afford to stop at the moment. "

"But really, do you _have_ to work on your silly little tales in the sitting room? It is dreadfully hard to concentrate with that awful scratching."

"Oh for pity's sake, if it bothers you that much, then go work on your case somewhere else!" I retorted crossly.

"Very well," he drawled as he slowly extracted himself from his armchair, "Perhaps they will be more accommodating over at the Diogenes Club."

I turned back to my work, hoping that without Holmes's constant interruptions I could finally finish my account of our latest case, a curious matter involving a Norwegian banker and rather large duck. But alas, it was not to be. I had not written two sentences before he was yelling for me.

Hearing the sound of his panicked voice, I was naturally concerned that he was in some sort of trouble and hurried downstairs with my old service revolver. I found Holmes shouting at a basket sitting on our front step. As I approached, I saw that it contained a small orange kitten. Miraculously, the cat was able to remain asleep even through the ruckus Holmes was creating.

"Watson!" he bellowed. "What the devil is this animal doing here?"

"I'm sure I haven't the slightest idea; I've never seen that cat before in my life."

"You've never kept a cat, not even before I met you?" he inquired.

"No, of course not."

"You're quite sure?"

"Really, Holmes!" I snapped. "I may not be as observant of all of life's little details as you are, but I should think I am at least capable of remembering whether I've kept a cat or not!"

"Well that is to say," he muttered, squirming uncomfortably, "I certainly did not mean to suggest…perhaps I overreacted a bit."

This was as close to a direct apology as I was likely to get from him, so I ignored his embarrassed mumbling and instead picked up the basket, thinking that I would bring the cat up to our sitting room.

"Watson, you don't mean to bring that beast inside!" Holmes exclaimed.

"We can't just leave the little fellow out here, it's supposed to rain soon."

"No, I will not allow it! Watson, it will not do at all."

"What, don't you like cats?"

"No, I most certainly do not!" he thundered.

"Holmes, I do wish you'd stop shouting," I sighed, "I'm sure the good people of Baker Street would greatly appreciate it."

"It's not like they aren't used to it by now," he reasoned.

Even though he was correct, that did not give him the right to force his dramatic tendencies on the rest of the world, but explaining that to him was probably a lost cause. So while he ranted on why he had every right to shout at cats without suffering the indignation of our neighbors, I took advantage of his distraction and brought the cat into the warmth of the front hallway before he could protest. I even managed to get halfway up the stairs to our sitting room before he came chasing after me.

"Watson, I swear to you, if that thing gets into my chemicals-"

"Oh, do relax, Holmes," I admonished as I reached the sitting room, "The cat's not going to bother anything."

"You can't know that-no don't you dare! Don't leave it on the sofa, Watson, I beg of you."

Again, I ignored him, for I could not see why he was making such a fuss over this cat which had somehow found its way to our humble abode. But if I had thought that he was being overly dramatic before, it was nothing compared to when said cat finally woke up. The sight of the kitten's eyes opening was enough to make him swear loudly and when the little fellow actually dared to climb out of the basket and onto the sofa, he very nearly had a nervous breakdown. I suggested that perhaps he should return to his original plan and go on to the Diogenes Club, since the cat was so distressing to him.

"No, heaven knows I would like to, for that case is simply not going to solve itself. But I will have to remain here," he said gloomily, "Someone must make sure that the little monster does not tear up the sitting room and it does not seem very likely that you would agree to do so."

At this, he sighed remorsefully and sank onto the sofa, seated as far away from the cat as possible. When the cat mewed contentedly, Holmes looked as though he would quite like to throw the poor animal out the window.

"My dear fellow, one would think that Professor Moriarty had invaded our sitting room by observing your behavior," I remarked. "It is just a harmless-"

"For the last time Watson, you have absolutely no proof that this cat is harmless," he interrupted, "Even now, the rascal could be hatching a plot to shred the curtains or possibly to break Mrs. Hudson's new vase. Just look at the little devil's eyes twitching about the room, wondering where he should first wreak havoc!"

It might have been amusing if he had not said it all with a straight face and in the most serious manner.

"Holmes, I have to ask. Why in God's name do you hate this cat so much? To be blunt, this is getting ridiculous."

"Oh, it's not just this cat. I despise the entire species."

"But why?" I pressed.

"No reason."

"There's no use in lying, old chap. You're only making me more curious."

"My dear Watson, shouldn't you be working on that story of yours?"

"You actually want me to finish my account of the case? Whatever happened to my writing being too romantic and superficial?"

"Would you be so kind as to pass me the agony column from today's newspaper?"

"Holmes, these attempts to dissuade me are, quite frankly, not very effective."

"Oh, very well!" he exclaimed. "If you must know, my brother Mycroft kept a cat when we were children. It was a perfectly horrid piece of fluff, even fatter and lazier than its owner."

"That's rather hard to imagine," I interrupted.

"I assure you, I am not exaggerating. I tolerated the fat lump for a time, but then the furry savage had to go and eat Stradivarius."

"The cat ate your violin?"

"No, Stradivarius was my pet rat."

"You're joking!" I snickered, "No one would ever name a rat Stradivarius."

"It's a perfectly good name!"

I merely snorted.

After berating me for laughing at his poor deceased friend, he proceeded to lecture me on just what an intelligent creature this pet of his had been. According to Holmes, the rat was able to do all kinds of tricks, even with the mental limitations all rodents face. I must admit, it took a great deal of self-control not to burst out laughing every time he called the rat by name. Some traces of my amusement must have showed on my face for he was beginning to get rather cross.

"Watson, I do wish you'd stop grinning at me," he snapped, "It may seem trivial now, but the event left me very distraught at the time."

"So now you hold all cats responsible for the misdeeds of the one. That's very mature, Holmes."

"Not just the one, Watson! There was the incident when Wiggins let a whole family of little monsters in my bedroom-"

"Oh, horrors!" I said sarcastically, "Yes, I'm sure the little fellow on the sofa is just itching to invade your bedroom."

"You see, you are finally staring to understand," he said triumphantly.

I rolled my eyes and turned to my desk. Holmes was kind enough not to distract me from my work this time, and I was finally able to finish my story in peace. When I turned to ask his opinion as to the title, I was met with a most amusing sight. While I had been focused on finishing the task at hand, our guest had ventured over to where my friend sat and had taken the liberty of curling up in his lap. Holmes did not say a word, but merely stared at the cat, looking as though he was about to vomit.

"My goodness," I chuckled, "It seems the dreadful monster has taken a liking to you. Whatever shall you do?"

"Maybe I'll feed your hat to it if you don't shut up," he barked.

The cat mewed happily as if to express that it liked the idea.

"Oh, you like hats, then," he grumbled, "Bloody good for you."

"I don't think your new friend can quite understand you," I observed cheerfully.

He looked like he was about to murder someone or at the very least, launch on another dramatic tirade, so it was probably fortunate that Mrs. Hudson chose that moment to bring in the tea-tray.

"Oh, I see that you gentlemen have met Schmitty!" she said as she deposited the tray on the table.

"Who, pray tell, is Schmitty?" Holmes growled.

"Why, Mr. Holmes, he's the cat you have there!" she answered. "Didn't I tell you that he would be coming?"

"No, I don't believe you did, Mrs. Hudson," I replied, "Does Schmitty here belong to you?"

"No, Doctor, he's my sister's cat, you see. But the poor dear can no longer manage to take care of him, so I told her that she could leave him here with me. He does seem to have taken a shine to you, Mr. Holmes! I was going to keep him in my quarters, but if he wants to stay with you, perhaps I'd better leave him for now."

"Mrs. Hudson, I think that is a simply marvelous idea," I beamed, ignoring the fact that Holmes was glaring daggers at me.

"Well, I'm glad to hear you agree, Doctor. Now, if you'll excuse me, the front hall needs to be mopped," our landlady said as she left us.

"Watson," Holmes groaned miserably, "Would you get this blasted thing off of me?"

"He has a name, you know. You should call him Schmitty."

"Absolutely not," he snarled, "It's a ridiculous name."

"No better than Stradivarius," I retorted, "But I think I'll leave the little fellow where he is for now. He seems quite happy, wouldn't you agree?"

"Confound it, Watson! It's started purring!"

"That just means he likes you."

"Well, I hope you're happy, little monster. Because of you, I'm never going to be able to finish solving this dratted case," he muttered to the animal on his lap.

"Schmitty still can't understand you."

Holmes was not inclined to respond.

* * *

I own none of the human characters, as much as I wish I did. No offense was meant to anyone who has ever named a pet Stradivarius or Schmitty. ^_^ Hope you enjoyed.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Here's the sequel, as per request! Hope everyone enjoys.

* * *

Mrs. Hudson had repeatedly assured me that he would do no harm, that he was a most docile creature. Watson had been taken in by its deceptively innocent appearance. I was the only one who knew the true nature of the vile animal known as Schmitty.

The little monster had not clawed up the furniture or scratched my violin. He had not ruined my chemical experiments like I had feared. No, this savage was beyond such petty crimes. His offense was far greater and much more serious. For whatever inexplicable reason, this cat had decided he was fond of me. I had done my best to dissuade the creature, but he still felt the need to follow me everywhere. In his eyes, a moment not spent at my side was a moment wasted, though we had only been acquainted for a few hours

He had not shown any inclination to cause mischief during the afternoon, but that did not mean he had put the idea out of his mind entirely. As a matter of fact, this good behavior exhibited by the little monster only increased my suspicions of him. The cat had found himself in a strange room with people he did not know. It would have been reckless to strike too early in this new environment. But now he had had ample time to consider his situation and I was certain that the tiny demon was only waiting for an opportune moment to create chaos. Watson thought I was being unreasonable but I asked Mrs. Hudson keep the vermin in her bedroom during the night anyways.

Unfortunately, the little devil somehow managed to let himself out while the good lady slept. I freely admit that I would have expected that he would have taken this opportunity to ravage the kitchen for scraps or possibly to destroy the sitting room. He could have gone so far as to flee Baker Street entirely in the hopes of catching and devouring some poor, unsuspecting bird.

But our little monster was not inclined to conform to my assumptions. Instead, he took the liberty of inviting himself into my bedroom and depositing himself on my pillow. I was awoken by the dratted animal's meowing at a very early hour. I promptly picked the foul thing up (a very unpleasant task, to be sure, but one that had to be done) and flung him onto the floor. I had hoped that he would take the hint and find someone else to bother. Watson probably would have been delighted to see the deplorable kitten, even at such an early hour, and I do not think Mrs. Hudson would have minded very much either. However, the little monster deemed it necessary to hop back up onto the bed and crawl on top of me so that he might use my face as a pillow.

I daresay Watson and Mrs. Hudson did not appreciate being woken up by my somewhat noisy reaction, but how was I supposed to respond? Perhaps I was a tad disruptive, but the noise did at least encourage the brute to reconsider his perch upon my head.

"My dear Holmes, there's no need to be so dramatic," Watson scolded after he had entered my room and found that his darling little Schmitty was the cause of my distress, "The little fellow was just wishing you a good morning."

"I do not need anyone to wish me a good morning at the crack of dawn, Watson!" I barked, "Especially not this infernal critter!"

"Surely you're being a little hard on him. Calling him an infernal critter is a bit much."

"I am only stating the truth, that thing is an absolute menace!" I replied, gesturing to the disgusting animal, which had relocated himself to the carpet. "Even that beast that killed Stradivarius would not have dared to wake me up so early with that dreadful mewing."

"You know, he probably only came in here because he wanted to be fed. I'm sure he just wishes you would give him some breakfast."

"Out of the question!"

"Who knows, perhaps Schmitty would leave you alone if he was fed," Watson speculated.

"I really don't think that will be the case. The horrid thing has not left my side since he arrived here, and while no one regrets this more than I, at least I admit that the mere temptation of a meal is not likely to discourage him."

"You shall never know until you try," he pressed. "Besides, it would be cruel to leave the poor thing to starve."

"Watson, the little beggar is not going to starve. Mrs. Hudson fed it yesterday," I said, glaring at the creature, wishing that he would remove himself from my presence entirely instead of obnoxiously keeping up valuable space on the floor.

"But you can't just let him go without breakfast," the good doctor wheedled, "Poor Schmitty would be so unhappy."

"And why should that matter to me?" I inquired, "In any case, the cat is entirely Mrs. Hudson's responsibility."

"Mrs. Hudson has two lodgers and herself to worry about. Come on now, Schmitty here has shown that he is rather fond of you, the very least you could do is take an interest in his well-being."

"I refuse to feed something that has done its very best to ruin my morning!"

"I'm sure he didn't mean to."

"Oh, splendid. I suppose next you'll be telling me that the wretch had no idea his presence would annoy me."

"Holmes, that is the closest thing to a reasonable sentiment I have heard from you all morning."

"Watson!"

"Really Holmes, his intent was not a hurtful one. He's only a harmless cat."

"I think not!" I exclaimed, "This cat has got it out for me, I tell you! "

"Rubbish," he said, shaking his head, "I do wish you'd stop being so paranoid."

"I am not being paranoid!"

"Schmitty has not done a single malicious thing to you or your belongings. You don't have a pet rat that he might wish to consume. There's no reason for you to be so cruel to him," he said sternly, "Now, I think this has gone far enough. Why don't you start afresh with the little fellow? At least give him a chance."

"Absolutely not." Treating the monster nicely would give him just the opportunity he had undoubtedly been looking for, and then we would all pay the price. I could not risk it, though my throat was growing rather hoarse from all of the yelling the pest had caused.

"Very well," Watson sighed, "I had hoped it would not come to this."

"Hold on, what are you doing?"

"You must come to your senses somehow, even if I have to force you."

"What in blazes are you talking about? No, get away from my wardrobe!"

He rummaged through my possessions until he found the box he was looking for. I realized with dread that he had taken the box with all of the materials necessary for my various disguises.

"You wouldn't dare…" I whispered.

"I seem to recall you saying that you would need this for your work today. It would be a pity if you weren't able to complete your case on schedule."

"Truly, Watson, blackmail is beneath you."

"I assure you, I am not proud that I have had to resort to such extreme measures," he said somberly, "But nevertheless, you will not get your things back until you get out of bed and feed that cat breakfast!"

I weighed my options. If I complied with his demands, he would return my belongings. I would be able to complete my case, at the cost of having to serve that infernal cat breakfast, unquestionably looking like a fool in the process. If I refused, I would be risking a scandal of immense proportions, not to mention an extremely unhappy client. But I would still have my pride. There was only one option I could choose. I would simply have to take my chances and hope that I would be able to retrieve my disguises when Watson was not looking.

"Oh, and if you don't get up soon, I shall tell Inspector Lestrade and the rest of Scotland Yard about the time you were sleepwalking and accidentally locked yourself out of the apartment."

Five minutes later, I was rummaging through Mrs. Hudson's kitchen, trying to find something that would appease a cat. It was not an easy task when the little monster had curled up around my feet, thus preventing me from moving. The confounded feline mewed happily as I pondered what I had done to deserve such a horrible fate and wondered why Dr. Watson could not have just fed the dratted thing himself.

* * *

I have to confess that I have had too much fun with this, so this just may turn into a little series...


	3. Chapter 3

Holmes still remained steadfastly convinced that Schmitty was a worse criminal than any human he had encountered. Numerous attempts at encouraging him to befriend our feline guest had been unsuccessful; my only triumph was that Holmes had provided breakfast for Schmitty every day this week. However, this was most certainly not, as he reminded me frequently, because he felt any sort of affection for him. No, the only reason he provided this small service was out of fear that I would reveal the little sleepwalking incident to Scotland Yard. He had not appreciated this blackmail on my part, and had felt it necessary to remind me of his displeasure at every possible moment. Mornings were always when his nagging was at the worst, but fortunately for me, my friend's attention was already occupied today. Holmes was too busy dashing around like a mad man, trying to make the apartment look presentable, to pester me with the usual shower of anti-cat comments.

"Quickly, Watson!" he cried, "There has been a woman pacing up and down Baker Street these past ten minutes. I am convinced that she is a potential client."

"Holmes, I wish you'd think to clean the sitting room more often, instead of seconds before a client arrives," I sighed, bending down to help him scoop up the debris.

"Well, I am a very busy man, Watson," he replied, as he stuffed some papers under Mrs. Hudson's tea-tray, "I hardly have time to-OH, DEAR GOD, NO!"

"What is it?" I asked frantically, "Are you alright?"

"My chair_, _Watson! It's sitting in my armchair!"

"What? It's only Schmitty."

"Precisely," he moaned, "The dratted beast has gone and contaminated my armchair."

Rolling my eyes, I walked over to the armchair and gently picked up the offending kitten.

"Sorry, little fellow," I snickered, "It looks like Mr. Holmes doesn't want to be bothered with you right now."

"Watson, please don't tell me you are talking to that wretched thing."

"You talk to him all the time," I retorted, "I haven't heard you go an hour without shouting at poor Schmitty since he arrived."

"That is hardly relevant," he asserted, "Pray put the horrid monster in Mrs. Hudson's bedroom."

As Holmes concealed his unfinished breakfast in one of his desk drawers, I took advantage of his turned back and hid Schmitty in his bedroom. He would be very irritated with me when he found out, but we were running out of time and there was no other alternative. I hardly thought that Schmitty would be much of a nuisance. When I returned to the sitting room, Holmes was gazing out the window, quite unaware of my deception.

"It seems that I was correct," he declared, "At this very moment, Mrs. Hudson is admitting the woman that I noticed earlier. Now, old fellow, there's just one more thing."

"What, Holmes?"

"My dear Watson, do you think I could borrow your armchair?"

"You can't be serious, Holmes. You're not going to catch a disease by sitting in the same chair as Schmitty."

"But he _sheds_, Watson!"

"Then I suppose you'll have to stand."

"But Watson," he whined, "It's revolting!"

"Oh very well, take my chair if you must. In any case, it seems we have no further time to discuss it," I said resignedly, as Mrs. Hudson brought in our client's card.

"Mrs. Amelia Arnold," Holmes read, "The name does sound vaguely familiar. Mrs. Hudson, you may show her in."

Mrs. Amelia Arnold was a short, pretentious sort of woman dressed in London's latest fashion. The instant she entered the room, she made a beeline for Holmes and began wringing his hand, sobbing as she did so.

"Oh, Mr. Holmes, you have to help me!" she wailed hysterically, "You must find that evil man and make him pay for what he has done!"

Noticing the look of discomfort on his face, I took pity on my friend and gently pulled the lady over to the sofa and tried my best to comfort her. But no matter what I said or did, her pitiful sobs only became louder and the look of annoyance on Holmes's face only grew.

"Mrs. Arnold, pray calm yourself!" he requested waspishly, " Dr. Watson and I can hardly hope to be of some assistance to you if you can not even stop this weeping long enough to explain what your predicament may be."

"I suppose you're right, Mr. Holmes. You are, after all, the only man could help me with my revenge. But that villain is too horrible! Oh, I can hardly bear to think of him, let alone-"

Here, Mrs. Arnold was interrupted by a peculiar scratching noise coming from Holmes's bedroom.

"A ghost!" the lady shrieked hysterically. "Whatever shall we do?"

"Mrs. Arnold, I must congratulate you. I don't believe I've ever heard a woman screech at quite that volume," Holmes commented tartly, "But in any case, I do not believe that what you heard was a spirit."

"But what else could it possibly be?"

"It appears that the little monster has somehow found its way into my bedroom again," Holmes glowered, "Though I can not imagine how, as I was under the impression that Dr. Watson had locked the foul thing in our landlady's room."

"A monster!" Mrs. Arnold sniveled, "We are doomed for sure!"

"It is not so bad as that," I reassured her, ignoring Holmes's icy glares in my direction, "It's merely the cat, Schmitty. Perhaps you'd like to meet him?"

I knew that having the cat in the sitting room during a consultation was the last thing Holmes wanted, but anything that might prevent this dramatic woman from further hysterics would be a welcome change.

"You mean to say that your cat was the one making those dreadful scratching noises? "

"Yes, but you have no need to fear. Our little friend is quite harmless."

"Really, Watson, the lady has come to me about what appears to a very pressing matter, I hardly think that she would want-wait, what do you mean _our _friend?"

Paying no attention to Holmes's protests, I retrieved Schmitty from the bedroom and deposited him on the sofa. When our client endeavored to scratch behind his ears, he immediately swatted at her angrily.

"Oh dear," the lady lamented, "I don't think he likes me, Dr. Watson."

"That's odd," I remarked, quickly pulling the hissing cat away from Mrs. Arnold, "He's normally very friendly, I don't see why he would-"

"Ha!" Holmes interjected triumphantly, "I warned you, did I not? It was only a matter of time before we saw the beast's true nature."

"Oh, I'm sure he's a very lovely cat, Mr. Holmes," Mrs. Arnold said edgily, "Perhaps it's just that he doesn't care for strangers."

"Well, in any case, I am sure that Dr. Watson shall be able to keep the fiend under control while you tell us how we might help you."

"It's a very simple matter, Mr. Holmes. You and Dr. Watson would be of great assistance to me if you were both to die."

It was remarkable to see how quickly her tears dissipated. The frantic look in her eyes became one of cold fury and all traces of our panic-stricken client vanished as she pointed a gun at my friend.

"If either of you move an inch, I shall shoot to kill," she snarled, "Don't think that I won't do it! I _will _avenge my husband, no matter the cost."

"Of course," Holmes groaned, "Zachary Arnold, the man responsible for the Stewart murders. Mrs. Arnold, I was a fool not to realize your identity sooner. How could I forget the way you screamed at me when they carried your beloved husband off to prison?

"This woman is the wife of a murderer?" I gaped, as Schmitty hissed furiously, "It can't be!"

She began to laugh shrilly and said, "I do hope you two gentlemen weren't too annoyed by my…theatrics. They were quite a useful distraction when I snatched that revolver from the desk there. But my goodness, I certainly didn't expect to have such an easy time of it. I've heard that you're a talented actor yourself, Mr. Holmes. Surely you weren't really fooled by so simple a deception!"

"I have undoubtedly been careless," Holmes responded, "But if I recall correctly, I helped bring about the arrest of your husband more than fifteen years ago. You could have had your revenge on me anytime you chose. Why wait all this time?"

"Because, Mr. Holmes, my husband strictly forbade it. He was determined that one day he would escape from prison and seek you out himself. You don't know how many times he tried to break out! But it was all for naught. He died last week in the cell that you put him in, and so, I have taken matters into my own hands."

My mind was racing as I tried to determine a way out of our predicament. If I moved so much as an inch, I risked my friend's life. But I couldn't just stand by and do nothing…

It turned out that my involvement wasn't necessary after all. Before I even knew what was happening, Schmitty had flown from my lap and was attacking Mrs. Arnold, viciously clawing up her face. Holmes shouted something I couldn't hear over the lady's screams, but his meaning was clear enough. I quickly wrestled the revolver from Mrs. Arnold's grasp and pointed it in her direction as Holmes rushed over to pull the furious feline off of her.

Mrs. Arnold had fainted, her face covered in angry red scratch marks. However, it didn't look like there would be any lasting damage.

"Well, Watson, surely now you can hardly fail to agree with me," Holmes declared.

"About what?"

"About the little monster, of course!"

"Really, Holmes, just because he got a little carried away, it doesn't make him a monster. Without his help, it might not have gone so well for us."

"Don't be daft, Watson."

" Perhaps you just don't want to admit that Schmitty was more alert than you today," I chuckled, scratching the animal in question's ears affectionately as he began to purr, "You saw how he took an instant dislike to Mrs. Arnold. Maybe you should have realized that the lady wasn't as harmless as she seemed."

"Yes, I should have remembered the woman from our previous encounters, I'll give you that. But you really can't suggest that the animal knew that she was up to no good. I'll wager he just didn't like the smell of her perfume or some such nonsense."

"Either way, he still saved you from being shot by that dreadful woman."

"Preposterous!" he snorted. "I had a plan in mind, and it would have worked too, had it not been for that beast's interference."

"You had a plan, did you? Might I ask just what that plan was?"

He did not answer me, but merely shifted around in his chair uncomfortably, his eyes nervously darting about the room.

"My goodness, Holmes," I laughed, "It seems that the cat's got your tongue!"

* * *

*The author runs away from the rotten tomatoes being thrown as punishment for the lame joke.*


	4. Chapter 4

Holmes and I had suffered several long days of being cooped up in our Baker Street rooms due to a ghastly rainstorm. Holmes was in one of his dark moods and had refused to leave his bed, leaving poor Schmitty pining away at his door day and night. There were no cases to solve, no criminals willing to brave the inclement weather, not even a single message of intrigue in the agony column. I had organized my notes from twenty of our most recent cases, read four novels, and attempted to convince Holmes to eat something a dozen times. Actually, it might have been thirteen times. I'm not quite sure if I counted the time when he threw his breakfast at the cat. I was much more preoccupied with cleaning up the mess before our landlady found it than keeping track of my failed efforts at nutrition. Either way, I had run out of things I needed to do, and I was terribly bored. Even Mrs. Hudson seemed to be succumbing to the tedium. The expression she wore while delivering a telegram to Holmes was devoid of any emotion or expression whatsoever.

I determined that now would be as good a time as any to clean my old service revolver. I found it on top of my desk and picked it up carefully, not sure if it was still loaded from our previous adventure, the affair of the vicious turkey breeder. Suddenly, the door to the bedroom flew open with a crash as Holmes came bounding out excitedly. I was so startled that I accidentally pressed the trigger. It became evident that the gun _was _still loaded as a bullet went whizzing by my friend and struck the wall behind him.

"Come along, Watson!" he shouted jubilantly, waving a telegram, "The game is afoot once more!"

"My dear fellow, are you quite alright? You're not hurt?"

"What, should I be?"

"Well, I very nearly just shot you, you know."

"Oh, so you did," he observed, catching sight of the additional bullet hole in the wall, "Now you've done it, Watson!"

"I'm so sorry Holmes, I'll be more careful."

"You've ruined the bullet holes on the wall! They look like they say "U.R." instead of "V.R.". Tut, tut, Watson, what would the Queen say?"

"I'm sure I haven't the slightest idea."

"I would imagine that she-no, little monster, I am _not _in need of the services of an annoying, overly affectionate feline today, thank you very much!" Holmes asserted as Schmitty rushed to his side and curled up around his feet, "Just what you find so appealing about my ankles, I'll never know."

"He missed you very much while you were busy playing the hermit. Couldn't you have come out from your lair sooner?"

"What, to see this abominable fiend? I think not, Watson. In any case, you had better read this. It seems Lestrade has bungled yet another case."

He passed me the stagnation-ending message, which read as follows:

REQUIRE ASSISTANCE WITH STRANGE CASE STOP ALSO IN NEED OF MEDICAL SERVICES STOP AM SENDING HANSOM FOR YOU AND DOCTOR STOP LESTRADE STOP

I began to search for my medical bag at once while Holmes disentangled himself from Schmitty's paws. Finding it open on my bed, I could see at a glance that most of my bandages were missing.

I was at a loss momentarily before remembering that Holmes had been injured by one of those dreadful birds during the turkey breeder affair. He must have borrowed the bandages without informing me and forgotten to return them. Leaving the bag open, I returned downstairs and quickly found the missing supplies (or rather, what was left of them, as Holmes had nearly used up my entire stock) on his desk. After admonishing him for not telling me how serious his injury had been, I returned upstairs and tossed the bandages in with the rest of the medical supplies. Now, did I have everything I needed? It didn't seem likely that I would want my extra thermometer, but perhaps I had better find it just to be sure.

"Hurry up, old man!" Holmes called, "The hansom's waiting outside!"

I quickly glanced about the room for the thermometer. Not having any luck, I closed my bag and hurried down the stairs to join my friend.

"You know, Holmes," I said as we traveled through the streets of London, "I'm rather surprised that you've agreed to help Lestrade with this affair. I thought that you weren't speaking to him after he let that arsonist escape in the Crouch business."

"I am still very irritated with him about that, since I spent a considerable amount of time helping him to find the man in the first place. But any escape from ennui is welcome at this point, even if involves working with that miserable dolt."

"And you wanted to escape the attentions of a certain cat, no doubt."

"Yes, that is indeed an added bonus."

"It would be nice if you could at least learn to tolerate Schmitty. You're going to have to accept his being here eventually."

"And you're going to have to accept that I never shall. In any case, it seems that we've arrived. There's Lestrade, over by that house. Good heavens, what an unattractive hat!"

The little rat-faced professional ran to meet us as we got out of the hansom. He thanked us profusely for our assistance and began to tell us what had occurred. The house, which was owned by Mr. Arthur Howell and his wife, had been robbed during the night. The intruder had entered by smashing a window and knocked the lady of the house unconscious. Mrs. Howell's husband was away on business and she had given all of the servants the night off, save for the butler, whose name was Wickham. However, at the time of the robbery, she had sent Wickham on an errand and was quite alone in the house. While Mrs. Howell lay unconscious, the thief had made off with several of her jewels and managed to escape by the time Wickham returned home from his errand. Nothing had seemed out of place to him. He had noticed his mistress's absence but assumed that she had merely gone to bed early. Shortly afterwards, he also retired.

"One moment, Lestrade," Holmes interrupted, "Do you mean to say that Wickham didn't even notice that one of the windows of the house had been smashed?"

"It's one of the back windows. Wickham wouldn't have passed by it on his way to his quarters. I checked that fact out myself Mr. Holmes, it's entirely possible that Wickham wouldn't have seen the window at all."

"I see. Pray continue."

Wickham had found Mrs. Howell sprawled on the floor of her bedroom earlier this morning. After she had been revived, the two of them discovered the theft and called Scotland Yard.

"Mrs. Howell was unconscious for all that time? It must have been quite a savage blow," I remarked.

"Quite so, Doctor, that's why we thought you'd better take a look at her."

"I'll go at once. You'll be alright without me, Holmes?"

"Yes, I'll have a quick look around the house while you're gone. Lead the way, Lestrade."

I went upstairs and found Mrs. Howell resting in her bedroom. She had a very nasty lump on the side of her head, but thankfully, there was no concussion.

"You're very lucky, Mrs. Howell. This injury could have been much worse. As it is, you'll still need to rest for a few days. Does it hurt much?"

"Just a bit, Doctor,"

I opened my bag and removed the correct medication to relieve the lady's suffering. When I went to fetch a glass of water for her, I thought I heard the door creaking open. But when I turned around, there was no one there. Puzzled, I returned to my patient.

"How much do I owe you, Doctor?" Mrs. Howell asked after I had given her the medicine.

"Nothing at all, madam. Just get some rest and recover quickly."

There was a sharp rap at the door. Holmes was about to interview the butler, Wickham, and wondered if I was available to take notes. I left Mrs. Howell, telling her not to hesitate to ask for me if she needed anything and went downstairs with my friend.

Wickham appeared to be very shaken up by the night's events. He was extremely pale and his manner became increasingly flustered as Holmes questioned him.

"If I understand correctly, Wickham, you were sent away on an errand when the robbery took place," he began.

"That's right, sir. Mrs. Howell needed a telegram delivered to the post office and since everyone else was away, I volunteered."

"A bit unusual, is it not, for you to be the only servant not given the night off?"

"Mrs. Howell offered, but I didn't think it was right to leave her here by herself all night."

"But you did leave her, to go to the post office," I interrupted.

"It was just a quick errand, Doctor; I wasn't gone half an hour. I never expected that something like this would occur."

"About what time did you leave?" Holmes asked.

"Eight o'clock sharp."

"And you locked the door behind you? You didn't forget?"

"Of course, I didn't!" Wickham replied indignantly.

"Would anyone have known that Mrs. Howell was all alone in the house?"

"Perhaps a few of Mr. and Mrs. Howell's friends, but I can't say for sure."

"You returned around half past eight, then, and went to bed shortly after. In the morning, you discovered the unconscious Mrs. Howell, correct?"

"That's exactly how it was, sir."

"Thank you, Wickham, I think that will be all for the time being. Come, Watson."

As we left Wickham, Inspector Lestrade came rushing towards us, evidently very excited about something.

"Mr. Holmes!" he cried, "I've found something!"

"A clue? Where?"

"He's in the hall."

"A person, then?" I speculated, "Perhaps a possible witness?"

"No, not quite, Doctor. I think you'd better come and see for yourselves."

Imagine my surprise to see a familiar orange striped tabby sitting calmly by the door. Somehow, Schmitty had made his way to the scene of the crime. Had he really managed to follow us all the way here?

"You see, Mr. Holmes, if this cat made its way in here, perhaps there's another way inside the house. The thief could have used it as well. The broken window might be a mere blind!"

"I'm afraid not, Lestrade," Holmes said, shaking his head, "There's only one way that menace could have gotten here and that is by hiding in Dr. Watson's medical bag."

Of course! Schmitty must have climbed in my bag while I was retrieving the bandages from the sitting room. I had left it open, I recalled. The strange noise I had heard upstairs must have been Schmitty leaving the room after he had climbed out of the bag.

"He hid in Dr. Watson's bag, you say? Then you know this cat, Doctor?"

"Of course he doesn't!" Holmes hastily interrupted, "He's only a random stray we found. We were looking for a good home for him. Perhaps you'd like a cat Lestrade? Here, you can take him off of our hands. I'd be perfectly happy never to see the confounded animal again."

"Stop that, Holmes! You can't go giving other people's pets away. Mrs. Hudson would be extremely irritated with you. Schmitty here," I explained to the confused Inspector, "Is our landlady's cat. Holmes isn't too fond of him."

"I can see that," Lestrade chortled, "But nevertheless, you'll have to take him, Mr. Holmes. I can't have a cat getting underfoot during an official police investigation."

"Very well, Watson can take him off of your hands. I will not touch the fiend any more than I have to. Now, my dear Watson, do you think Mrs. Howell would be up to answering some questions? There are one or two points I would like to clear up."

I asserted that he could see her for a few minutes, so we journeyed upstairs once more, this time with the accompaniment of the Scotland Yard official and the cat. Upon our entering the room, Mrs. Howell spotted Schmitty and gave a cry of delight.

"Oh, so the cat _was _real after all! I saw him climb out of the doctor's bag and I was afraid that I was having delusions. It's so nice to know that I haven't taken leave of my senses. What a dear little fellow he is!"

"Well that destroys my theory about the other entrance to the house. If Mrs. Howell saw him climb out of the bag, that settles it," Lestrade lamented.

Since Mrs. Howell was so obviously taken with the cat, I set him down on the bed. He took to her immediately and began purring. It was remarkable to see how the color returned to her cheeks. With the cat at her side, she was able to answer Holmes's questions with a smile.

"Did you tell anyone, one of your friends perhaps, that you would be alone in the house, save for the butler?"

"No, not a soul."

"You sent Wickham to the post office around eight last evening?"

"Yes, that's right."

"You're absolutely sure that he left at that time?"

She nodded empathetically. "I heard the door slam at eight o'clock exactly."

"And you were attacked shortly afterwards. Forgive me for forcing you to think about the incident, but do you think you could say what time it was when the attack took place?"

"Around eight fifteen. I glanced at the clock when I heard the window break. I remember thinking that it seemed awfully early for any ruffians to be at work."

"You didn't, by any chance, get a look at your attacker?" I inquired.

"No, he came at me from behind."

"How long do you think it would have taken for the criminal to successfully rob you of your jewels and make his getaway?"

"Not more than five minutes. The brute attacked me in this room and my jewel box is just over there."

"So he would have had time to escape before Wickham returned at half past eight," I asserted.

"That is correct."

Holmes had no more questions so I retrieved Schmitty and told the lady to get some rest. I left the room just as puzzled about the incident as when I entered.

"You see the difficulty of the situation, Watson. The timeliness of the crime and the fact that no one knew Mrs. Howell to be at home by herself both point to an inside job. But Wickham was at the post office and I do not think the lady would be able to knock herself out so successfully."

"They could be working together," Lestrade suggested, "Maybe Mrs. Howell told Wickham to knock her out."

"So he could steal the lady's own jewels? No, that won't do. Besides, there is still the matter of the window. An insider would have no need to smash the windowpane. The crime must have been committed from the outside. Unless…wait a minute! Do you know, Lestrade, your blind theory may just prove to be right after all."

"But the window is the only way the criminal could have entered, if it was an outside job. It can't be a ruse."

"No, no, we've overlooked the most vital of clues! Quickly, Lestrade, to the window! Come along, Watson! Bring that abominable feline with you if you must."

We hurried to the window in question. Even the cat was caught up in the excitement. He jumped out of my arms and made for the open windowpane. He would have bounded outside and begun to investigate himself had I not promptly held him back. There was glass everywhere on the ground outside and I did not want him to injure himself, seeing as I have never been to veterinary school.

"You see, Lestrade! The glass is _outside _the house. If there had been someone outside smashing the window, the glass would have fallen _inside _the house. Therefore, someone smashed the glass from the inside. Well done, Lestrade! An admirable blind indeed!"

"But the criminal could have come in by another way and used the window as an exit," Lestrade retorted.

"Not so, my dear Inspector. Remember, Mrs. Howell heard the glass break _before_ she was attacked and subsequently robbed."

"Then the lady is lying. She must want to shield the real thief."

"Really Lestrade, you grow even more ridiculous. The answer is much simpler than you make it out to be. The thief is Wickham."

"But he was at the post office!" I interjected. "Mrs. Howell heard him leave."

"She _heard _him, but she did not _see _him. He must have opened and closed the door without actually leaving the house."

"It's a decent theory; I'll give you that, Mr. Holmes. But you have no proof whatsoever."

"I mean to obtain some very shortly, if you would bring Wickham to me."

Lestrade did so. At Holmes's request, he searched his pockets and found Mrs. Howell's telegram. Wickham had never left the house to send it.

"Looks like you've got-achoo!-me, Mr. Holmes," Wickham snarled, sinking into a chair, "Though I can't for the life of me figure out where I went wrong."

"Oh, it was a simple deduction, I assure you. Now, if you'd be so kind, I should like to know where you hid the jewels."

"I'll-achoo!-never tell-achoo!-you!"

"I say man, do you want a handkerchief?" Lestrade inquired, "You seem to have caught a nasty cold."

"Not a cold, Inspector. He was perfectly fine when Watson and I were talking to him earlier. No, I think this is a different kind of ailment."

"What, then?"

For an answer, Holmes snatched Schmitty from my hands, wincing as he did so, and thrust him onto Wickham's lap. The man began to sneeze uncontrollably.

"Mr. Wickham," Holmes said simply, "Is allergic to cats."

"Get him-achoo!-off me!"

"You'll need to answer a few questions first."

"Please, just get rid of him!" Wickham moaned, "I'll tell you-achoo!-anything!"

"Tell us where you hid the jewels!"

"They're-achoo!-in the-achoo!-study. I added a hidden-achoo!-drawer to one of the-achoo!-desks."

"Extraordinary! I've known you to be adept at many things, Holmes, but I never thought I would add torture to the list," I remarked.

"And I never thought the little monster would ever prove to be the slightest bit useful. We learn new things everyday, I suppose. Now, get that beast and let us be off."

But Schmitty had dug his claws into the wretched man and had no intention of letting go. Wickham was in obvious agony, an agony that only increased the longer the cat endeavored to remain. In his own way, Schmitty had pronounced his sentence on the criminal.

"Good heavens, Doctor!" Lestrade exclaimed in between Wickham's sneezes, "Remind me never to get on the bad side of that cat!"


	5. Chapter 5

_Watson_

It was very late, well past midnight, and I was absolutely exhausted. Holmes and I had spent the entire evening traipsing about London in pursuit of a group of bank robbers. Unfortunately, they were evading our best efforts to apprehend them. In spite of the late hour and our diminishing stamina, Holmes still wanted to continue the chase. However, Inspector Gregson had refused to accompany us any longer, declaring that the pursuit would have to end for the time being, in the interest of keeping his feet attached to the rest of his body. Holmes was not very pleased with this and had a few words with Gregson about what he deemed 'the laziness and utter ineptitude of the entire official police force' but the inspector was not to be persuaded. Without the backing of the Yard, Holmes could not take the criminals into custody even if he did manage to find them and so we were forced to return, defeated and spent, to Baker Street. Privately, I agreed with Gregson and felt that our search would be better resumed in the morning, but Holmes was obviously not in the mood to listen to my opinion on the matter. He stormed up the stairs, entered his bedroom and slammed the door without a word to me.

"Good night," I called wearily after him, hoping that he would be in better spirits in the morning.

Yawning heavily, I trudged up the stairs to my own room. I lit a candle and to my great surprise, I found Schmitty sleeping on my bed, curled up peacefully in a little ball.

Perhaps I should have moved him or shaken him awake, but I really didn't have the heart to rouse him, not when he looked so content. I deliberated for a moment and then decided that I would let him have his rest. I could easily manage on the floor, as I had endured far worse conditions during my service in Afghanistan. Besides, it wasn't like I would be able to sleep for very long anyway. It was already past four in the morning. Yes, it would certainly be better not to disturb the little fellow. There were some extra blankets under the bed, so I made use of them and drifted off to sleep.

_Holmes_

I was very irritated with myself when I woke up the morning after our ill-fated pursuit of those confounded bank robbers. Not only had I failed to take the blackguards into custody, but now I had overslept.

"Mrs. Hudson, you could have woken me," I snapped, entering the sitting room.

"No, sir, I could not have," she retorted, "Your door was locked."

"That is only to prevent an invasion by that foul creature of yours. You most certainly could have knocked."

"Well, I never! I was only trying to ensure that you got a proper amount of rest, you and the Doctor got back so late last night."

"Did any telegrams come for me while you were busy ensuring that I wasted several hours of a perfectly good day?"

"Yes, there was one. A police constable brought it. But I see no reason why I should give it you if you're going to be so unpleasant."

"Let me see it!"

"Not until you apologize for being rude."

"Fine, if you must be so exasperating. I'm sorry."

"That was far from a sincere apology, Mr. Holmes," she sniffed disdainfully, "But we'll just have to keep working on it, I suppose. Here you are."

"It's from Gregson!" I exclaimed, "For once in his life, the bungler has done the right thing-he's found the hideout of those bank robbers and has managed to capture them. Where's Watson?"

"The Doctor is still asleep. And don't you dare go and wake him up!" she called after me as I rushed up the stairs. Needless to say, her orders were going to be disregarded.

I flung open the door and was met with a curious sight. For whatever reason, Watson was sprawled on the floor, entangled in a mass of blankets. As he opened his eyes groggily, I couldn't help but grin at the look of utter bewilderment on his face.

"My dear Watson, you seem to have fallen out of bed," I snickered.

"No, your reasoning has proved false this time. I slept on the floor willingly last night,"

"And why should you want to do something like that?"

"Oh, the cat was sleeping on the bed. I didn't want to wake him," he explained cheerfully.

Well, really, this was going too far. I had endured that fiend invading my home, climbing on my face, sitting in my armchair, attacking my adversaries and otherwise meddling in my affairs, but this time he had crossed the line. If the little monster was going to inconvenience me, then so be it, but to allow him to inconvenience Watson was out of the question. This had gone on far too long. It was time to remove that awful creature from my life, for once and for all.

"Holmes, you don't have to look so angry," Watson said warily, "I assure you, it really isn't anything you need to trouble yourself over. The floor was comfortable enough."

"Watson, you don't understand. That wicked animal has been interfering with our lives from the moment he arrived."

"He hasn't-"

"Pray, stop coming to the vicious feline's defense."

"But Holmes-"

"We must rid ourselves of that deplorable creature."

"You can't-"

"I will not put up with the abominable menace any longer!"

"But Mrs. Hudson shall-"

"No, Watson, Mrs. Hudson will simply have to make do without her little striped atrocity."

"Striped atrocity? Goodness Holmes, how many insults can you come up with for one poor cat?"

"Quite a few, actually. But you are distracting me from the task at hand. I must find that cat at once and ensure that he regrets the day he ever deemed it necessary to plague our innocent home."

_Schmitty_

Neither the Doctor nor Mr. Holmes took any notice of me as I continued to watch from the doorway. Dr. Watson was trying to persuade Mr. Holmes to let me stay here, but he refused to consider the idea.

I had no idea that he had hated me so very much. Monster, he called me, fiend, menace, atrocity. Was I really as bad as all of that? I had never meant to cause so much trouble…

I looked sadly at the lifeless bird resting at my paws. It was going to be a present for Mr. Holmes, my very favorite human, but I knew now that he wouldn't want it-just like he didn't want me.

But he wouldn't have to chase me out. If I was only a source of unhappiness for him, then I would be better off elsewhere. I picked up my bird, and moved silently down the stairs. Mrs. Hudson's back was turned, so I was able to slip out the front door without drawing any attention to myself.

This house had been the site of all of my happiest memories. I don't think it would be very hard to understand, even for a human, why I now felt so lonely upon leaving it.

* * *

Er…sorry for ending it there. I'll be away for the next two weeks without access to a computer, so I'm afraid there won't be any updates during that time. But there's definitely still more to come.

Have a wonderful couple of weeks everyone! I'll be looking forward to reading lots of great fics when I get back.


	6. Chapter 6

I had intended to find that wretched cat at once and remove him, but naturally, the little monster had to continue to vex me. He was absolutely nowhere to be found. He was not in the sitting room; I had combed the area thoroughly. After the vermin's previous breaches of my bedroom, I had been sure to keep the door locked at all times, so he could not possibly be in there. Neither Watson nor I had any idea where the fiend could have gotten to. Our search was not assisted in any way by the presence of our overly weepy landlady.

"He's run away," Mrs. Hudson wailed, "Oh, we'll never find him now. He's lost forever!"

"And good riddance," I muttered under my breath. Indeed, my only regret was that I had not had the chance to throw the cat out myself.

It was apparent from Watson's irritated glare in my direction that he had heard me, but thankfully, he chose not to make any sort of disapproving remark and concentrated his attention on the distressed woman.

"Don't you worry, Mrs. Hudson," he soothed, "Holmes and I will find Schmitty. He can't have gotten far."

"I beg you to leave me out of this entirely," I snapped peevishly, "I have far more important matters to attend to than a missing cat."

"Please, Mr. Holmes, I'm at my wit's end. I'm sure a search for a cat must seem very insignificant compared to a search for expensive jewels or for essential government documents, but I know you could find him."

"Watson knows my methods," I said nonchalantly, "I'm sure he is more than capable of applying them."

And with that, I settled into my armchair and refused to speak another word on the matter. Watson continued to press me for my assistance, but even he could not bear to remain in the room with me when I began to improvise with my Stradivarius when it was out of tune.

* * *

The next morning, I awoke half an hour past the usual time. It was the second day in a row that I had overslept. Normally, I was up _earlier_ than I intended because of that dratted animal's meowing. Come to think of it, he usually began to scratch at my door incessantly once he realized that I was up, for he was an impatient little devil when it came to breakfast. However, today he was being absolutely silent.

Ah, but I had forgotten. The little monster wasn't here anymore. I wondered briefly if he had found something suitable to eat without the benefit of Mrs. Hudson's cooking. He was probably being forced to find some sentimental dolt in order to beg for a scrap of meat or fish. Not that it really mattered to me, of course. He could be breakfasting with the Queen of England for all I cared.

My own meal consisted of burnt bacon and a mushy something that must have contained eggs at some point. Women. Always letting their emotions get the best of them. Mrs. Hudson's distress was even affecting her cooking. I suddenly found myself wishing that the creature was still present after all, as he would have been overjoyed to consume this utterly unsatisfactory breakfast.

Then again, I reminded myself, I could just offer my uneaten food to Watson. The monster's presence was still entirely unnecessary.

The very instant Watson had consumed both of our breakfasts, he set off to attempt to find Mrs. Hudson's precious pet. It was an unbelievably dull morning without him. Throughout the duration of that evil animal's invasion of my home, much of my time had been spent in watching him in order to ensure that he did not cause any mischief. My preoccupation with the menace's activities worried Watson and amused Mrs. Hudson, but I had known it was for the good of all concerned. The world would probably never realize how my attentiveness had undoubtedly saved Mrs. Hudson's curtains and furniture from destruction.

Though honestly, I had never really liked Mrs. Hudson's curtains. But defending them had been a decent way to spend my idle hours. I also took great pleasure in keeping my chemicals, violin, and other prized possessions away from the claws of the fiend. The fiend himself had taken great pleasure in situating himself in my lap or curling up around my ankles, forcing me to give up my vigil. I did not miss that part of living with a cat.

Well, I didn't miss it very much, anyway.

The afternoon proved to be only slightly more interesting than the morning had been. A client came by for a consultation but she was an incredibly hysterical woman with no case of interest, just some piffling story about a lost pair of shoes. I vaguely wished that Schmi-the monster was there to claw her face up. But since he wasn't, I was forced to listen to the woman for half an hour before she would pause long enough to allow me to point out the obvious fact that she had left her shoes at her sister's house. She did at least remember to pay me a substantial fee.

It was about suppertime when Watson finally returned, without the cat.

"Oh good, Mrs. Hudson built a fire," he said gratefully, "It's absolutely freezing out there."

"Do you need anything? A blanket? Something to drink?"

"No, no, I'm alright. Schmitty's probably much worse off than I am," he sighed, "All alone, out in the cold since yesterday morning…he probably doesn't have any idea where he is. Poor thing, I wish I had managed to find him."

The idea of the animal being forced to spend another frigid night outside was a tad unsettling, perhaps, but it was his own fault. Besides, some kindhearted lady had probably adopted him. That beast could be very charming when it was beneficial to him. Either way, he was obviously no concern of mine. I had other things to think about.

"Say, Watson," I said abruptly, "Do you have a pen handy? I still need to answer Monsieur le Villard's question about those Pelletier murders."

"There should be one in my medical bag for writing prescriptions. There ought to be some ink in there as well."

I was inexplicably reminded of the time the cat had hidden in Watson's bag and arrived unnoticed at the scene of one of our cases. Suddenly, I didn't feel like writing that letter anymore.

"Never mind," I muttered hastily, "I'll do it tomorrow."

I must have gone absolutely mad.

We sat in silence for a time as the wind howled and whistled past our windows. I did not envy anyone unfortunate enough to be caught outside tonight, man or beast.

And I knew there was one beast in particular who had spent far too much time out there already.

"Very well, Watson, I'm coming along tomorrow," I declared. What a softhearted fool I was turning into.

"Sorry, Holmes? You're coming where?"

"I'll help you find that little monster tomorrow. But only so Mrs. Hudson stops ruining breakfast, mind you!"

* * *

I shivered as I made my way down the street. I was beginning to regret leaving my home. There I may have been unwelcome, but at least I had always been warm.

But wait! A man was walking up to one of the houses on the street. If I hurried, I might be able to rush inside the house once the door was opened. I hated to bother complete strangers, but I really did not want to freeze to death. Of course, if I did die, Mr. Holmes wouldn't have missed me. He had probably already forgotten about me.

As the man knocked on the door, I glanced at the nameplate next to it. I was not the best at reading human language, but I thought it said Colonel James Moriarty. Hm…Moriarty. The name did sound a bit familiar to me. Perhaps he was a friend of Dr. Watson or Mr. Holmes. I made up my mind to try and enter the house.


	7. Chapter 7

Colonel Moriarty's house was quite spacious, but nearly all of its numerous rooms appeared to be unused. They were absolutely barren, devoid of furniture and light, and I came across no one as I wandered through the shadowy hallways. All of the humans had left earlier that evening, Colonel Moriarty included. One of them had mentioned something about a secret meeting of some sort.

I had reached the door at the end of the hallway. It was cracked slightly open-ah, now this room looked more promising! The room was small and simply furnished, but it was at least inhabited. There was a white, fluffy cat sitting on the windowsill with a floppy pink bow around her neck. She took no notice of me as I entered the room, giving me a chance to observe that she was really quite pretty.

"Excuse me," I began, using my best gentlecat voice, "Could you tell me the way to Baker Street from here?"

You would have thought that I was a great, snarling monster by her reaction. She was trembling so badly that I thought she would fall off the windowsill.

"Don't come any closer!" she whispered fiercely, "W-who are you?"

"Me? My name is Schmitty."

"H-he didn't send you?"

"Who?"

"The m-master. Colonel M-moriarty."

"No, I've never met the man."

At my words, she visibly began to relax and even granted me the honor of sharing her perch by the window.

"I do apologize for not trusting you," she said, "The master isn't very happy with me at present, and I wouldn't put it past him to send someone after me. He's kept dogs up here before, you know. But I can see now that you've no intent of harming me."

"He's kept _dogs_ up here with you? Disgusting! Just what sort of person is this Colonel Moriarty, anyhow? He doesn't seem very nice."

"Well, he is a kind master in his own way, I suppose," she replied, her tail twitching nervously. "But I'm sure he wouldn't be pleased to find you here, Schmitty. You should probably leave before he gets back."

"He seems to be one of those queer, uptight humans you find now and again," I remarked, "Not someone I would have expected to be one of Mr. Holmes's friends."

At this, she turned to face me, her wide eyes showing that she was utterly horrified by what I had said. "Mr. H-holmes?" she stuttered, "You d-don't mean Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"

"Yes, that's who I mean. Why, do you know him?"

"Good gracious, you must go at once. You're in t-terrible danger here if you know Sherlock Holmes."

"Now, wait just a moment!" I said angrily, "Sherlock Holmes is a good human, and I won't let you insult him in front of me."

"I-insult him? I wouldn't dream of doing so, it's the master who doesn't like him. Surely you've read Dr. Watson's stories about the master's brother in the Strand magazine?"

I had not, and so she proceeded to tell me an incredible tale, one about my own Mr. Holmes and Professor Moriarty, the Napoleon of crime. It seemed that Mr. Holmes had killed Professor Moriarty at the Reichenbach falls several years ago. The Colonel whose home I had unwittingly invaded had previously thought that Mr. Holmes was also dead (what an absolutely horrible thought!) but had recently learned the truth. According to my new friend, Colonel Moriarty was determined on revenge for his fallen brother.

"This is such a strange coincidence," I mused, "I leave the home of Mr. Holmes only to end up at the home of one of his greatest enemies."

"You see, though, why it isn't safe for you to be here?"

"Listen, I appreciate your telling me all of this-I'm sorry, I don't even know your name."

"You can call me Molly," she said warily, "It's not my real name, but it's what I prefer to be known as."

"Well, Molly, I appreciate the warning, but I can't leave here if your Colonel Moriarty has got it out for Mr. Holmes. I have to do all I can to help him. Do you think he is in any immediate danger?"

"I can't say for sure, but the master's definitely been plotting something recently. I wouldn't be at all surprised if it was about Mr. Holmes. There have been all sorts of strange men here lately, and they keep having secret meetings. I tried to follow the master once, but he caught me before I heard anything important. That's why he's so angry with me right now, he thinks I'm up to something. It's awfully frightening when he's a-angry, to tell you the truth."

"That settles it," I proclaimed, "I can't leave this place if there is a lady in distress here. That wouldn't be very gentlecatly. I must stay here and help you."

"That's kind of you, I'm sure, but what if the m-master should catch you?"

"Molly, you worry too much. I'm not going to be foolish enough to let him know that I'm here. There's something fishy going on here and I'm going to get to the bottom of it. It would be pathetic if I hadn't picked up anything by living with the greatest detective in the world. There must be something we can do to thwart Moriarty's plans."

"W-we?"

"Well, I would appreciate your help, if you're willing. Your knowledge about Moriarty and his habits would probably be useful. But if you're too scared…"

"No, I'll help you," she said determinedly, "I've let him control my life for far too long. It's odd, but I trust you for some reason, even though I've only just met you."

At that moment, before I even had a chance to thank her, a hansom cab pulled up by the curb. Colonel James Moriarty clambered out of it and strode up to his house.

"Quick, Schmitty, get behind the curtain!" Molly cried.

I had only just done so when I heard Moriarty climbing up the stairs.

"Fifibella," he called, "I'm home! You better not have left that room while I was away."

"Fifibella? Is that your real name?" I snickered, poking my head out from behind the curtain to grin at her.

"I've already told you, I prefer Molly," she hissed, "Would you stay hidden? We'll be in terrible trouble if he finds you, or even worse, if he figures out that you're Sherlock Holmes's cat."

"Excuse me, you've got it mixed up," I corrected her politely, "I am not Sherlock Holmes's cat. He is my human. And I will do anything to keep him safe."

* * *

"I'm sorry, Watson, I never thought that the Irregulars would get so mixed up," I said glumly, "I still can't believe they dragged us all that way to find a dog named _Mittie_."

"It's a simple enough mistake, Holmes," he consoled, "You shouldn't worry yourself over it. I'm sure we'll find the cat soon."

I was starting to think that this was an impossible task. There were undoubtedly hundreds of stray cats wandering about London. We had been searching all day without any luck, and now even my Irregulars had failed me.

"Perhaps we should go to Scotland Yard," Watson suggested, 'They might be able to assist us somehow."

"What, you mean tell Lestrade that my valuable time is being used to search for a lost cat? He'd never take me seriously again. My reputation would be ruined. Of course, the little monster would probably love to see that happen. This is just the sort of evil plot he might come up with."

"Holmes, don't start that again. I'm sure Schmitty would never do anything of the kind."

Perhaps not, but the striped terror was still being dreadfully inconsiderate. My clients would not appreciate it if this search lasted much longer. Not to mention that he was worrying Watson and Mrs. Hudson a great deal with his disappearance. I, of course, was not concerned about his well-being, but I did not like to see my friend and my worthy landlady in such distress. Nor did I like to see the standards of Mrs. Hudson's cooking lowered so drastically.

Mrs. Hudson herself entered the room at that moment with the mail, a false smile that fooled no one plastered on her face.

"I never thought I'd see that Greek e with the peculiar top flourish again," I muttered, glancing at the envelope she handed me.

"Who is it from?" Watson asked.

"Fred Porlock. They released him from prison for good behavior some time ago, but he's never felt it necessary to contact me until now. It must be something important."

I ripped open the envelope and promptly decoded the message inside. It read as follows:

Dear Mr. Holmes,

You and the Doctor are in grave danger. Somehow, the professor's brother knows that you are still alive. I won't be able to communicate with you further, he is already suspicious of me, but I wish you luck. From what I've heard of his plans, you'll need it. Please don't underestimate him, Mr. Holmes. Colonel James Moriarty is every bit as cunning as his brother.

-Fred Porlock

"My dear Watson," I declared, passing him the message, "It appears that the search for the little monster may have to be put on hold."


	8. Chapter 8

If I ever managed to return home to Baker Street, it would not be because I chose to ride there on the back of a hansom cab. In fact, I would be incredibly happy not to have to repeat that experience ever again. I knew that it was all for Mr. Holmes's sake, but it was still terribly uncomfortable to have to share my awkward perch with Molly, who, as I soon found out, had problems with motion sickness. Needless to say, we were both glad to reach Colonel Moriarty's destination.

We hopped off and hid in a shadowy alleyway before the Colonel disembarked. Molly recognized the building and knew about another, less-frequented entrance, so we were able to make our way in undetected.

We found ourselves in a dark, dreary room, empty except for a desk and a rickety table with an assortment of mismatched chairs. It was here that Moriarty as his friends were gathered. None of them noticed the two anxious cats hiding under the dusty, old desk.

A seedy-looking man walked in a few minutes later and occupied the last place at the table, seemingly not noticing the glares he was receiving from every other member of the group.

"Well, now that Robinson has decided to join us, I suppose we can begin," Moriarty snarled. He spread a map on the table, but we were too far away to see the places he had marked.

"Gentlemen, you know why we are here today," he started, "Sherlock Holmes is back from the grave and what remains of this organization will be destroyed if we don't get to him quickly. You have all received the plans by now, yes?

The others all nodded their assent.

"Then there is not much left to discuss. However, there is one change. The location has been changed to _here._" He jabbed at a spot on the map with his finger. How I wished we could get closer to see it without being seen ourselves!

"Gentlemen, there must be no mistakes. Holmes is a clever fellow, and even our ironclad plans would go astray if any of you should slip up. I hope you all realize," he added, glaring at each one of them in turn, "that the consequences would be most severe if any of you were to make such an error."

Not quite able to meet their master's eyes, the men murmured their understanding like frightened dogs.

"There are no questions, I presume? Very good. You all know what you must do when the time comes. Until then, adieu."

* * *

Life was becoming increasingly bothersome. First, that wretched cat had to run away, throwing the entire household in an uproar. His continued absence had pulled me from my more meaningful work, forcing me to waste several days in an effort to find him. And now, the brother of my most formidable enemy had determined it necessary to exact revenge upon me for the death of the late, lamented Professor Moriarty. As if I didn't already have enough to concern myself with. Worse still, his desire for vengeance had evidently extended itself to include Watson, if Fred Porlock was to be believed.

The trouble was, my knowledge of Colonel Moriarty and his associates was not as immense as it should have been. I did not know how many of the Professor's former allies were in contact with the Colonel or what steps he was most likely to take against me. A recent three year absence from London and its criminals did have its drawbacks. Therefore, my first priority was to gather information.

The Irregulars were dispatched with a list of the men most likely to be in the Colonel's employ. One boy was instructed to watch Moriarty's house and to keep me updated as to his movements. When he sent word that the Colonel had left the house for some sort of meeting, I decided it was the perfect opportunity to do a bit of reconnaissance. After adequately disguising myself and Watson (he had insisted on accompanying me, despite my protests), we set off.

There was no one about that evening on the Colonel's street. The locked door proved laughably easy to pick and the house was entirely deserted. However, not everything could go so smoothly. I had not expected Colonel Moriarty to leave incriminating documents lying in plain sight, but the fact that I could not find anything useful infuriated me.

"Holmes, look at this," Watson called excitedly. I hurried to where he was studying an armchair, thinking he had found something of interest.

"Look, Holmes, this chair is covered in fur. I never would have expected Colonel Moriarty to have any sort of pet."

"Pets, Watson, pets," I sighed dejectedly, "One with orange fur and one with white, if I am not mistaken. Probably a pair of cats."

"How did you deduce that?"

"I happen to know that Moriarty keeps his dogs at a kennel, and I doubt that he would bother to put a pair of guinea pigs on his chair."

"Reminds me of Schmitty," Watson said wistfully, "He always did like to sit in your chair."

Yes that _would _be just like the orange little monster to shed all over another person's armchair. But obviously, he couldn't have been here.

I was just about to investigate the contents of Moriarty's desk drawers when a hansom pulled up by the curb. I hated to leave before I had the information I needed, but the consequences would be disastrous if we were found here. We left quietly through a side window and made our way back to Baker Street.

Upon reaching 221B, Mrs. Hudson informed us that there was a boy waiting to see me in the sitting room. Knowing that it must be one of my Irregulars, I flung my hat and stick at the landlady without a word and hurried up to the sitting room. Watson could make my apologies for me-this could be essential information. I found Simpson hovering near our table, so I immediately hauled him away from the supper waiting on top of it.

"Oy, guv'nor, I jus' wanted one bite!" he yelped.

Of course, Watson had to enter the room at that precise moment. Simpson immediately went after the easier target and soon found himself with Watson's entire plate of food.

"Ahgot sumfin to tell 'oo gufnir," he said, while giving me a not-so-satisfactory view of his chicken.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," I instructed, glaring at him until he swallowed, "Now, what is it?"

"Say, wot 'appened to your cat, Mr. 'Olmes?"

"He's not here," I said crossly, "And he's not my cat."

"Wot, did 'e run away?"

"Enough about that confounded cat! Do you have something to tell me or not?"

"Oh, roight. Well, I been tailing that Robinson bloke you tol' me to follow an' I 'eard 'im say that 'e was meeting Colonel Moriarty tomorrow. An' you was mentioned, so I thought I'd better give you the address 'e talked about," he said, handing me a grubby slip of paper with a Brixton Road address on it.

"He was meeting Colonel Moriarty at this place, you say?"

"Yes, guv, at nine o'clock sharp, 'e said."

"Very well, here is your shilling, Simpson. Now be off with you!"

He promptly shoved two more pieces of chicken in his pocket and fled before I could stop him.

"What are we going to do, Holmes?" Watson inquired, "Should we go to Brixton Road tomorrow?"

"I shall be going to Brixton Road. You shall remain here."

"But you can't go by yourself! It could be a trap!"

"That is precisely why you must stay. It is highly probable that one of Moriarty's associates will show up here while I am gone. It would be an excellent opportunity to look through my belongings. I assure you, there are pieces of evidence here against every man who could be in Moriarty's employ. They would be fools not to want to destroy them. They may even be so bold as to lie in wait for me until I return and if that is the case, we can't leave Mrs. Hudson here by herself."

"No, we certainly couldn't do that," Watson pondered, "But are you sure you shall be fine on your own?"

"Yes, my dear fellow. You needn't worry. With any luck, this whole business will be finished tomorrow."

* * *

I was incredibly disappointed with myself after not being able to discover anything useful about Moriarty and his plans after our adventure.

"It isn't so terrible," Molly had tried to tell me, "You know for certain that they're up to something. There's a man called Robinson involved and you know that some location has been changed."

I didn't have the heart to tell her that these measly bits of information wouldn't be helpful. Yes, we had confirmed that there were evil plans ready to be put into action, but without knowledge of what those plans were going to be, it was useless. I went to bed that night disheartened and fearful of what the next few days might bring, only to awake the next morning to Molly shrieking in my ear.

"Schmitty, you've got to wake up!" she cried, "He's gone!"

"What?" I said groggily, "Is it Mr. Holmes?"

"The master! He's gone out to breakfast with that Robinson fellow."

"Molly, I don't think we'll learn anything useful by following them to breakfast. It really doesn't matter to me how Moriarty likes his eggs or if he prefers tea to coffee."

"No, you don't understand. He's left his desk drawers open and there are all sorts of papers inside. If we hurry, we might be able to find something useful."

"Why didn't you say so before?" I exclaimed, leaping to my paws and rushing to the desk.

Fortunately, Moriarty had left the bottom drawer open, so with a bit of effort, I was able to balance on two legs and drag some promising folders out with my teeth. But they contained nothing but old shopping lists and a handful of letters from an Aunt Carol addressed to her "darling nephew". We soon had a large pile of rubbish in front of us. Then we opened the last folder together. It contained a single sheet of paper, which read as follows:

_To all those involved in the Baker Street business:_

_The plan will commence on Friday, June 20__th__. Robinson will lure Holmes to the location of his choosing. (Try feeding false information to one of his sources-I'm certain he has people following all of us by now.) Jones and Marshall will stand by with the four-wheeler. All of you combined ought to be enough to overpower him, but chloroform should be used if he puts up too much of a struggle. We will disguise Dudley in a police uniform so he can keep people away from the area. Then, Holmes will be taken to the warehouse on Threadneedle Street, where I shall be waiting. If all goes as planned, you gentlemen shall each receive fifty pounds at that time._

_-J. M._

"Thank goodness!" I cried, "Today is only Wednesday. We still have two full days to warn Mr. Holmes."

Of course, neither of us had any idea how to get to Baker Street to warn him, but it looked as though we had even worse problems than that. While we had been reading, Colonel Moriarty had slipped into the room. Well, I hadn't actually seen him enter, but he was here in front of us now. And he didn't look happy.

"What in blazes are you animals doing with my papers?" he thundered.

Having no desire to answer his question, I fled from the room with Molly close behind, carrying the essential paper in her mouth. The Colonel tried to prevent us from leaving, but after a few well-placed scratches, we were able to make our escape.

We had finally found Moriarty's plans and we were free of his house. But how were we to find Mr. Holmes?

* * *

It did not happen very often, but this time Colonel James Moriarty was utterly taken aback. Why the devil was his Fifibella looking through his papers? And who was the other cat, the one who had taken several painful swipes at his ankles? He could not make sense of the situation.

Well, it didn't matter. The silly animals had not taken anything important. Chuckling to himself quietly, the Colonel pulled another sheet of paper from the pile on the floor and read it to himself.

_To all those involved in the Baker Street business:_

_Disregard the previous message's date-the attempt will be made on Wednesday, June 18. Otherwise, follow the plan depicted in the first letter, unless any changes are made during Tuesday's meeting. __I shall also add, gentlemen, that Colonel Sebastian Moran himself has taken interest in our efforts. I have promised to write to him in prison if the abduction succeeds. I should hate to have to disappoint him. You all understand my meaning, I'm sure._

_-J. M. _

Moriarty sat down at his desk, gathering up a blank sheet of stationary and a fountain pen. He thought for a moment and then began:

_Colonel Moran,_

_I am sure it is neither very comfortable nor very pleasant where you are, but perhaps this letter will help to raise your spirits as I have some excellent news for you. Yes, my dear fellow, the plan was a success. I await your judgment as to what should be done about the brother and the doctor._

_-J. M._


	9. Chapter 9

We hadn't the slightest idea where Baker Street or Mr. Holmes was, but as luck would have it, Colonel Moriarty's apartment was close to the abode of another Holmes. It had been Molly's suggestion to go see Mycroft and show him the evidence of the Colonel's schemes, but she was now lagging behind as we drew closer to Pall Mall.

"Molly, if you keep going so slowly we'll be separated," I called, "Are you alright?"

She hurried to catch up with me then and as she came closer, I could see a worried expression on her face. Something was obviously troubling her.

"I beg your pardon, Schmitty," she said quietly, setting Moriarty's plans down between us, "I was just thinking."

"About what?"

"Well that's just it, I don't know whether I ought to tell you," she said hesitantly, her tail twitching restlessly.

As her friend, I knew I had to do my best to help her. "Come on, you can tell me," I encouraged, "What's the matter? Perhaps I can be of assistance."

"Oh, d-don't," she stammered, "You're so awfully nice and I don't d-deserve a bit of it."

"What on earth are you talking about?" I inquired, completely and utterly confused. None of this added up.

"The p-plans," she said meekly, "I l-let you see the wrong ones."

"You mean…"

"I've known about the m-master's p-plans from the beginning. They were never going to kidnap Mr. Holmes on Friday-they were going after him _today._ The plan that we stole was a false one."

"And you knew this the whole time?"

"Yes."

"But you didn't tell me."

"N-no."

"So you were lying to me all along," I hissed angrily, "And you had the nerve to pretend you were my friend, that you cared about Mr. Holmes, that you were _helping_ me!"

"Schmitty, you don't understand! The m-master is more than frightening, he's downright wicked. I could tell you stories about him that would make even your fur stand on end. H-he makes my life miserable enough already but if he found out that I had been aiding his enemies, it would b-be unbearable. And the m-master always f-finds out when someone hasn't been truthful with h-him. I couldn't do it."

"But you could send a good, hardworking human to his doom. You had no hesitation about doing that!"

"Stop it!" she shrieked, "You d-don't know what it's like!"

"No, I don't know what it's like to be a coward, trembling at the feet of some arrogant human. No, I don't know what it is like to be a liar and a sneak. And I don't know what its like to be a held captive in a strange place by your worst enemy. But now Mr. Holmes does, thanks to you."

"Schmitty, I'm s-sorry," she whimpered pathetically, "It was wrong of me and-"

"Being sorry isn't going to bring my human back."

"B-but-"

"No, I won't have anything more to do with you. Goodbye, _Fifibella_."

She didn't even bother to correct me this time, merely gazing at me sadly as I marched past her resolutely. I was continuing on to Pall Mall and I was not looking back.

I still could not believe it that Molly, whom I would have trusted not only with my life, but with Mr. Holmes's as well, could be so treacherous. It was a shame, really. We had been such good friends and now I had no choice but to leave her behind and forget we had ever met.

But there was no time to dwell on the past. I had reached the home of Mr. Mycroft Holmes and my business with him was much more important than dumb old Molly. I wasn't quite sure how to warn Mycroft of Mr. Holmes's situation, especially since the fake plans wouldn't be useful anymore, but I knew I could think of something in time. Of course, the first order of business was to get into the house. Fortunately, one of the windows on the ground floor had been cracked open and I was able to squeeze through with a little effort.

I quickly found Mycroft Holmes snoozing away in an armchair. I hated to disturb any relative of Mr. Holmes, but I did desperately need his help. So I compromised and began to meow loudly, an effort which I thought would be more polite than jumping onto his lap and poking him with my sharp claws. He was evidently a very able sleeper, for it took me several minutes to arouse him.

"But Mrs. Perkins," he protested, finally beginning to open his eyes groggily, "I've only been asleep for a few minutes,"

This was not the time to be mistaken for some human woman! Honestly, when I had pictured Mr. Holmes's brother in my mind, I had imagined someone a little more alert. I had no choice but to meow even louder until he finally took notice of me.

"Good heavens, you're certainly not Mrs. Perkins," he said, his brow wrinkling in confusion, "I once had a cat like you, though he was much more well-fed. You're terribly scrawny."

"You've got to help me!" I cried, "Your brother is in terrible danger!"

"What, do you want a snack or something? You'll have to look elsewhere. I'm certainly not getting out of this chair just to feed you."

How stupid of me. To him, my pleas only sounded like pointless mewing. Humans really should just learn to speak Cat. We felines have at least bothered to gain knowledge of the human language, and can understand it fairly well, even if we usually choose to act as if we don't when we are called.

Just then, a woman came bustling into the room to hand Mycroft a telegram, eyeing me with disgust. "You know pets aren't allowed in the building, Mr. Holmes," she declared disdainfully, "Just what is the nasty little blighter doing here?"

"Well, he must have climbed in through the window. You always leave one of them open, you know. Though I have no idea what was so appealing about this particular house to the little beggar."

"You will get rid of it, then?"

"Yes, of course," he said absentmindedly, looking over the contents of the telegram, "Oh, dear. Mrs. Perkins, could you fetch a cab please?"

"Is it bad news, sir?"

"It seems so. The telegram is from Dr. Watson-you remember him, the one who came along with Sherlock for supper. Only time I could ever drag that headstrong brother of mine over here and he wouldn't even stay for dessert…but anyway, Sherlock's disappeared."

The landlady immediately went to pieces (Mr. Holmes! You mustn't spring things like that on people!) and I inwardly shared her panic. My worst fears were all true. If only I had some idea where they could have taken him! Even now, we might already be too late, and I hadn't the least idea what to do.

"What a pity," Mycroft was saying, "I suppose I ought to go and look for him now. It seems a shame that my schedule will be altered so drastically. I shall be late in getting to the Diogenes."

I simply could not believe it. They most important man in London (in my eyes, anyhow) was missing and his own brother could only think of the possible change in his habits. Disgraceful!

But no matter how unwilling the mind, Mycroft's body allowed itself to rise from the armchair. He yawned and then turned suddenly to scoop me up with one hand. I was so shocked that I did not even scratch, bite, or otherwise protest.

"You're not taking that thing to Baker Street, sir?" said Mrs. Perkins, absolutely horrified.

"Why shouldn't I? It doesn't look as though the little beggar has anywhere else to be."

"Oh, very well," she retorted crossly, "Just be sure to abandon the wretch in some alley on your way home,"

If she could have understood me, I would have explained to the unmannerly woman that I had no intention of letting anyone leave me in some filthy alleyway. But I doubted Mycroft would have appreciated my method of explaining, as it might have involved a teensy bit of violence. Since I needed his trust in order to successfully rescue Mr. Holmes, I let the incident pass.

After a rather uncomfortable cab ride, during which Mycroft fell asleep on my tail, we arrived at Baker Street. Wise cats often say that the nature of a building and the people residing in it should not matter to a cat. They believe that the only important factors are the quality of the food served and the timeliness with which it is presented, but I'm afraid I must disagree. I was never so happy in my entire life than when I arrived at my old home and realized that I would soon be seeing Dr. Watson and Mrs. Hudson again.

I gently prodded Mycroft awake and watched him make his way to the front door from the cab. A bewildered Mrs. Hudson answered his booming knock only to burst into tears at the sight of him. Poor thing. She must have missed Mr. Holmes nearly as much as I did.

"Er…you mustn't cry, my dear lady. I'm sure we can put matters right very soon," Mycroft was evidently at a loss.

"Oh, Mr. Holmes, whatever will we do?" she wailed. It was very hard not to run and comfort her, but I knew that she wouldn't let me continue to search for my human if I revealed myself. And if I wasn't able to find him, Mrs. Hudson might never stop crying.

"Could I see Dr. Watson?" Mycroft tried again, "It is most imperative that I speak with him and find out what he knows about my brother's disappearance."

"No, no, you don't understand! Those villains came for the Doctor early this morning. He's gone!"

It looked as though I was too late once again.

* * *

Just a heads up, the next chapter will be the last. I'll try to be a bit quicker about updating this time around...


	10. Chapter 10

Since this is the last part, I would like to take the time to thank everyone who has being reading and reviewing along the way. Your support means so much! And a big thank you to my sister for making sure that these last few chapters got posted before the end of the century. I hope you all enjoy the final chapter and thanks again for putting up with my silliness.

* * *

Mycroft escorted the weeping Mrs. Hudson back into the apartment with the intent of searching it for clues. Personally, I didn't think he would find much. He didn't look like he would be very adept at conducting a criminal investigation, especially one that would involve moving.

My two favorite humans were in the clutches of Moriarty because I had failed to warn them, but that was no reason to give up. To start with, I had noticed one clue that Mycroft Holmes hadn't. There were bits of yellowish mud on and surrounding the front steps and I could easily observe a series of footprints. They obviously couldn't belong to Dr. Watson, since there was no evidence that their owner had a limp. I knew they were too large to belong to Mrs. Hudson and that Mycroft had not stepped in mud (that would require walking, after all). So I concluded that they belonged to one of the villains responsible for abducting my human friends.

It must have been a gigantic mud puddle, for I was able to follow the little yellowish clumps all the way to the door of a tavern. It did not appear to be a very likely place to hold Mr. Holmes or Dr. Watson, but I slipped inside to investigate and soon discovered that my trip had not been a complete wild-goose chase. Robinson, one of Moriarty's henchmen, was sitting at the bar, his boots covered in mud. Judging by the pile of empty glasses before him, he had been there for quite some time. Another thug was bending over him and whispering fiercely in his ear, so I quickly hurried closer to eavesdrop.

"Robinson, you bloody fool!" he was saying, "The boss is going to skin you alive."

"Well, he can have a pint too, if he wishes, I've no objections," said Robinson lazily, a silly expression on his face, "Better yet, he can have two!"

"You idiot, how long have you been here?"

"Oh, I dunno," he hiccupped, "Long enough for two or three…or eleventy."

"You realize you were supposed to _stay_ at the warehouse after you brought the doctor?"

"Ah, lighten up, there's a good chum. I'll be betting gack to Threadneedle Street pretty soonish," Robinson smiled dreamily.

I did not stay to hear the fool's pleas to stay "just a bittle lit bonger" but dashed out as soon as I knew my destination. What a fool I had been. Theadneedle Street had been mentioned in several of Moriarty's plans and I had completely forgotten about it.

I figured that Robinson was supposed to be on guard at the gang's warehouse, but since he was busy getting intoxicated; it was very possible that no one was there at the moment. This could be my only chance to save Mr. Holmes, so I hurried on my way.

Once I reached the street in question, I easily identified Moriarty's warehouse by the large mud puddle near it. The building looked to be deserted so I forced open one of the windows and slipped inside.

To my surprise, someone was there waiting for me. It was not Mr. Holmes or Dr. Watson; it was not even Colonel Moriarty. It was Molly.

"Oh, Schmitty, you've made it," she cried, scurrying towards me, "I'm so very glad to see you."

"Just what are you doing here?" I asked coldly. I had not forgotten her previous betrayal.

"Why, I'm here to save Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson, same as you."

"Of course you are."

"No, I'm quite serious! I thought about what you said earlier and you were right. I'm not going to waste any more time cowering at the feet of that horrible Moriarty. Please, Schmitty, you have to believe-" Just then, she was interrupted by a clock striking four in the afternoon.

"Oh, no," Molly groaned, "Colonel Moriarty will be here any second. Quickly, get into this closet!"

"I'm not listening to anything you have to say," I sniffed, "It would be an insult to Mr. Holmes."

"But Moriarty always comes here at four o'clock and you can't let him find you here. Please listen to me!"

I really did not want to obey her wishes, but if she was right, everything could be ruined if I did not take cover. And there was no way I could afford to take unnecessary chances…

"I can't believe I'm trusting you," I grumbled, following her into the shadowy closet.

As soon as we shut the door behind us, I heard the front door creaking open. Moments later, I recognized the footsteps of one Colonel Moriarty heading up the stairs.

"Well, he's very punctual," I muttered, "Molly, I think I owe you-"

"Shh!" she hissed.

Moriarty was speaking in low tones, but with my excellent hearing, I could still pick up what was being said. "Have you reconsidered?" he asked, his voice oozing and dripping with hatred.

"Of course not." Mr. Holmes spat. I could not see him, but I would have recognized that voice anywhere.

"You realize that your obstinacy shall get you nowhere."

"You realize I am not going to cooperate with you. Do what you like with me."

"I see. And do those same sentiments extend to your friend, Dr. Watson?"

"You will leave him out of this!"

"Oh certainly, certainly I shall. After you renounce your claim that my brother was the mastermind of a vast criminal organization, you both will be free to go. But if not, then things may not turn out so well for your dear, devoted doctor."

"He'll never give in to you," Dr. Watson retorted furiously.

"Gentlemen, we're getting nowhere," Moriarty sighed, "I grow weary of negotiating with you. I will return in twenty-four hours. If you have not changed your mind, it shall not be so pleasant for you."

Neither of my humans had any desire to respond to the fiend. We heard him tramp down the stairs and walk out the front door, slamming it behind him.

"And good riddance," Molly muttered angrily, giving me somewhat of a shock. She had always sounded so afraid of Moriarty before. I had to say, I really liked the change.

As we exited the closet together, she hesitantly turned to speak to me.

"Well, Schmitty, I know I've been a terrible cat, and you're probably very mad at me still. But if one day, you could find it in your heart to forgive me, I should be, that is, it would make me very happy."

"On one condition."

"And that is?"

"That you forgive me for not trusting you and for leaving you on the streets. It was very inconsiderate of me."

"No, no, don't worry about it," she grinned, "I managed to find my way here without very much trouble, so it all worked out in the end. Now, shall we rescue your humans?"

Friends again, we hurried up the stairs together. It was not difficult to determine which room held Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson because they were in a bit of an argument.

"Dash it all, Watson, I am not going to sacrifice you because of that villain's demands!"

"It's the only way, Holmes. I won't let you be accused of slander when you're perfectly justified in your claims against the Professor."

"Do you think that really matters to me?"

"Well, it matters to _me_, so-I say Holmes, I hope I'm not seeing things, but I do believe that's Schmitty."

I figured that was as good a moment as any to enter the room. Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson were each tied to a chair and by the looks on their faces, you would have thought we had suddenly turned purple. It was very odd, especially in Mr. Holmes's case. I was so used to him looking like he knew everything.

"What are you doing here Schmit-I mean, you little monster?" Mr. Holmes thundered.

"Holmes, there's two of them!"

"Two? Good heavens, what is this world coming to? I've managed to put up with this mongrel for all this time, and now he brings me a fluffy white beast. Disgusting!"

Molly looked a bit hurt at his name-calling, but I didn't have time to explain to her that he didn't really mean it. I gestured to her that she should set the Doctor free while I attended to Mr. Holmes. I had a feeling that in his case it would be a teensy bit more difficult of a job.

"Get off me, you little piece of vermin!" he shouted, as I began clawing at the ropes that held him.

"Holmes, I think they're trying to help us."

"Confound it, I will not allow myself to be rescued by a pair of repulsive little pussycats!"

"Oh, do be quiet. You're only making his job more difficult."

"Do you know, Watson, I don't really care. His involvement is not necessary. Watch it, you filthy animal! I just had this suit altered and if you get a single scratch on it, so help me, I'll-good heavens, Watson, he's got me completely untied."

"So I observed," he said dryly, pulling himself to his feet, "Now, are you going to sit there gaping at me, or would you like to get out of here?"

"But none of this makes sense! This wretched cat went missing for all of this time and now it suddenly turns up out of nowhere with this other creature…it isn't logical."

"To be honest, I'm just glad they were able to set us free," Watson shrugged, "I suppose there are some things we just aren't meant to understand."

Mr. Holmes looked as though he wanted to protest further, but Dr. Watson pulled him to his feet and out the door, Molly and I following behind. But, unfortunately, we didn't get very far. There at the bottom of the steps was Colonel Moriarty, blocking our path.

"Fifibella, I don't know what you think you're doing with Holmes and that wretched orange fellow, but you can be sure that you are in _very big trouble_," he said dangerously.

"The other monster is yours?" Mr. Holmes sputtered, "But how in God's name did it meet my-I mean, Mrs. Hudson's cat?"

"Search me, Holmes, for once in my life, I have no idea," Moriarty snarled, "But it doesn't matter. They can die along with you for all I care."

I saw him pull a gun from his pocket and point it at Mr. Holmes. I shoved Molly behind me to shield her, wishing that the humans were small enough that I might protect them too.

But then, out of nowhere, came the sound of hope. The door slammed open with a bang and Inspector Lestrade rushed in with two constables.

"Drop the gun, Colonel Moriarty!" he barked, "We've rounded up all of your men. They'll be charged with kidnapping, but I think in your case, we may be able to extend it to attempted murder."

Cursing as he did so, Moriarty obeyed.

"Oh, Schmitty, what a clever idea," Molly exclaimed, "However did you manage to get inside Scotland Yard?"

"I didn't. Do you mean to tell me that you didn't send for them either?"

"Why, no, of course not."

"Well that's very odd," I mused, "I never would have believed it."

"Believed what?"

"That Mycroft Holmes could actually be useful for something. I have to say, I'm just a little disappointed that I didn't have the chance to take Moriarty down himself."

* * *

Watson took the two furry demons back to Baker Street, leaving me and Lestrade to deal with the official side of things. After we took Moriarty's gang into custody, I headed back home, managing to avoid a hug from Mrs. Hudson as she opened the front door. Our landlady was absolutely ecstatic to have both of her lodgers back safe and sound and even more so to see her precious cat.

"And we'll have to keep the other one as well," she declared, "I must say, I wasn't very surprised when I heard that our Schmitty had found himself a lady friend. He's such a charming little fellow."

"Oh, absolutely, let's have two of the little monsters crawling around and shedding on everything. It will be delightful."

"I'm so glad you agree, Mr. Holmes," Mrs. Hudson smiled. Sarcasm evidently did not have much of an effect on her.

That evening was an uncomfortable affair. The little monster simply would not leave my side, and since the fluffy creature would not leave _his_ side, I soon found myself with two cats following my every move. Not to mention that I had to keep Watson from revealing the embarrassing story of how we escaped to Mrs. Hudson. Even if she did believe him, I was not in the mood to be laughed at by my landlady, so I was very glad when they both retired for the evening. The fluffy one had fallen asleep on the table. Mrs. Hudson had always minded when I left my chemicals or my Stradivarius on the table, but of course, the cat was not allowed to be moved. Hmph.

Satisfied that they were all quite asleep and would not hear anything I was about to say, I made my way towards the other cat, who was dozing on the sofa.

"Er-hello, little monster," I began, "Normally, I wouldn't be bothering to acknowledge your existence like this, but I suppose it will not be too horrible if you are asleep. Now, I'm sure you know that I'm not very fond of you. Actually, I despise you. And I really mean that. But you did manage to assist us-or assist Watson, rather, as I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I was only waiting for the right moment to escape, you see. However, I suppose you did manage to help, in a way. I still don't care for you, but perhaps you are a little more tolerable than most cats. So, um, thank you, little monster. Or, that is to say, thank you, Schmitty."

He meowed quietly in his sleep, rolling over as he did so.

"What a fool I'm turning into," I muttered, "Speaking to cats…"

And with that, I turned my back on the little creature, marched into my bedroom and shut the door.

_Author's Note- I have long respected Mr. Sherlock Holmes for his high proficiency in many subjects but it is obvious to me that he never bothered to learn how to speak Cat. If he had managed to master the language properly, he would have realized two things._

_One, Schmitty wasn't asleep._

_And two, the meow that he took no notice of was actually Cat for "You're welcome, Mr. Holmes."_


End file.
